Читать книгу The White Glove - Fred M. White - Страница 4

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The dreadful discovery almost broke Clifford down for a moment. In his weak state he could have sat down and cried. He had no watch or rings to pawn—they had all gone long ago—even his return ticket to Crowborough had been lost.

Well, there was no help for it. Clifford steeled himself to face the inevitable ordeal. Like many a better man before him, he resolved to walk the streets all night. Perhaps he would be able to see Sir Arthur Barrymore early to-morrow before the rush and fret of the day's work began, and secure a post, and once that was done it might be possible to request an advance. The fit of trembling passed away, and left Clifford cool and collected again. No doubt his pocket had been picked as he had carried the mysterious lady to safety.

Clifford shut his teeth together, and resolved to go through with the business now. No doubt in the hours to come, when the great city grew quieter, he might find some sheltered spot to sleep where he would be free from the attentions of the gentlemen in blue. But the secluded spot would have to be somewhere near the City. Morning would find him worn out and exhausted, and the closer he was to the office where all his hopes and fears were centred the better.

It was nearly nine o'clock when Clifford dragged himself wearily along Cheapside. There were very few people about in Long Lane, where the offices of Barrymore and Co. were situated, and Clifford was languidly surprised to see a carriage and a pair of horses, a very high-class equipage, stop at one of the big buildings, and a graceful girl alight.

Clifford looked on in a dazed, sleepy kind of way. What was that pretty girl doing here at this time of the evening? Perhaps she was coming to fetch some relative who had been working late, and take him to the theatre. But the carriage, with its blood horses, had gone at a swift trot, and turned into Cheapside, as if they were not required again—at any rate, not for some considerable time. It was poor sort of curiosity, but it kept Clifford from dwelling on himself, for he felt that way madness lay.

He looked up at the big building into which the pretty girl had disappeared, and he was not in he least surprised to see that it was the offices of Barrymore and Co. A strong electric light gleamed from two upper windows, evidently the office windows of some prominent employee of the big firm. Clifford stood staring at it stupidly.

Suddenly the big swing doors flew open, and the pretty girl in the evening dress came down the steps. Her wrap had been thrown aside, the electric lights gleamed on her golden hair. She looked very sweet and fragile and helpless, Clifford thought; then he noticed the terror in her eyes. An impulse to address her was not to be resisted.

"You are in trouble," he said. "Can I do anything for you—why, May!"

"Clifford!" the girl gasped. "What are you doing here? And yet you may ask me the same question. Where have you been all this long time? And Madeleine?"

"Madeleine is quite well, May. You see, there were reasons why she did not care to look up her old friends. But you are in trouble?"

"It is Sir Arthur Barrymore. He is my guardian, you know. But many things have happened since we last met—things I can't tell you of now. I came to fetch my guardian to the opera, and he was not quite ready, so I waited in the other office. I heard him cry out, and when I rushed in he was all huddled up in a chair. Somebody had been saying something to him on the telephone, but he seemed unable to reply."

"I'll come at once," Clifford said. "I feel there is a kind of providence here. But I am going to ask you to make me a promise, May."

"Dear Clifford, I promise anything if you will only come along."

"Then you are not to know me. I am a stranger that you picked up in the streets. Your guardian was ill, and you sought the first assistance that you could get. Now, lead the way."

May Denton led the way up the broad steps, so silent and deserted now. In a private office that might have passed for some millionaire's dining-room, save for the desks and the telephone, a man sat holding his head in his hands. A tall, white-haired, aristocratic-looking man, one evidently born to command. By his side stood a desk telephone, the bell of which was continually ringing, but the man with the staring eyes did not seem to heed.

"Who is this man, May?" he asked in a hollow tone.

"The young lady fetched me in," Clifford hastened to say. "You were ill, and she was frightened. The person at the other end of the telephone—"

"Cut it off. Answer for me—Sir Arthur Barrymore—and say I have left the office. If they ask when, say you don't know. And when you have done that, unlock yonder cabinet and give me a little brandy. I've—I've had a shock."

The man lay back in his chair almost numb from some sudden terror. And yet strength of character and firmness of will were written on his face. He nodded feeble approval as Clifford delivered his message to the unseen person at the other end of the telephone.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" the younger man asked.

Sir Arthur shook his head. A faint color was creeping back to his face again, but the lips were still as pale as ashes.

"I have had a great loss," he said, as if speaking more to himself than anybody else. "A loss so great that it has utterly unnerved me. Great heavens! that such a misfortune should come so suddenly. And I thought that I was absolutely safe. Who are you?"

Clifford explained hurriedly. He was to have seen Sir Arthur earlier in the day. He happened to be passing the office quite late, and the young lady had called him in.

"You were going to walk about all night?" Sir Arthur demanded.

Clifford flushed angrily, and the great man uttered something that might have been an apology. All the same, there was pluck here, and the silent evidence of trouble, and these were qualities that Sir Arthur admired greatly.

"I must try and do something for you," he said. "But I can only think of one thing to-night. You had better go for the police. Bah! what am I talking about? All the police in the world will not save me from hideous ruin. What's that?"

The sound of a door opening somewhere, and then steps coming upstairs. The door opened and a woman came in without the semblance of apology. A tall woman, wonderfully beautiful and commanding. There was just the suggestion of the foreigner in her carriage and the dainty way in which she walked, though when she spoke her English was perfect enough. Her smile bewildered and fascinated Clifford, she was so quickly changeable, so perfectly at home. Evidently a woman used to the highest society, Clifford thought.

And yet with it all he had a curious feeling that he had seen her before. He took in her dress of black satin, against which her skin glowed like old ivory. He saw the flashing diamonds in the dark hair. She threw back a wrap of costly furs, her right hand hung down by her side, the left was hidden by the flowing furs. And then on the right hand Clifford noted that she wore a velvet glove!

It was a peach-colored glove, but there it was. The coincidence was remarkable. And Clifford could study the lovely woman at his leisure, for the reason that, after one flashing, searching glance, she took no notice of his presence whatever. He felt a wild desire to see her left hand. It was the same woman he had befriended, but so different!

"Well, the inevitable has happened," she said.

"It was not inevitable," Sir Arthur retorted. "It was the very last thing to be expected. And how did you know of it?"

"Say I guessed it. I felt it by instinct. And when I could not get you on the telephone I was certain. What are you going to do now?"

"What can I do but call in the aid of the police?"

The beautiful woman shrugged her shoulders. She moved about with the finest possible grace, but never once did she expose her left hand.

"The police are useless," she said. "What we require now are pluck and daring and a matchless audacity. We seek for a soldier of fortune who is down on his luck, and anxious to retrieve his fallen fortunes, if he succeeds his fortune would be made; if he fails, the probability is the grave would be his portion. A strong, brave man who would be discreet and silent—a man who would face any danger without hesitation. Given a man like that we may yet succeed. And he would live in luxury ever after."

There was a ring of fire and passion in the speech that touched Clifford. Here was the opportunity that he was looking for. He had the courage and the audacity and the keen desire to succeed. When he thought of Madeleine's blue eyes and sweet smile, he felt capable, of anything. And all the time he felt that the woman was addressing him.

"I am your man," he said. "I have touched the bottom of my fortune; I am penniless. And I have one who is very dear to me waiting anxiously for me at home. Nothing that man dares I shrink from. Give me the chance."

Sir Arthur looked up and nodded. The woman whispered a few words to the girl, and she and May Denton left the room together. Presently the beautiful intruder returned alone. Sir Arthur sat moodily at the table stabbing his blotting pad. Was this really the same woman, Clifford wondered. She kept her left hand rigidly to her side. Clifford stepped across her so that he might get a glimpse of the limb. A quick flash of the eyes followed, then the flash melted into a dazzling smile.

"I think you are the man," she said. "I know you are quick and resourceful; I feel from your face that you possess the courage. But in this matter there is one thing you must beware of. Like all quick-witted, shrewd people, you are curious. You are burning with curiosity at this very moment, a curiosity that is not going to be gratified. Oh, I should advise you very strongly indeed to suppress that failing."

Clifford colored a little, and bowed. He perfectly understood, and in that moment he knew that he had no ordinary woman to deal with. She stooped down and shook Sir Arthur by the shoulder, her glance was just a little contemptuous.

"Wake up," she said. "Action, action, action. We wanted an ally, and fortune has sent us one. I am certain that we could not have made a better choice. If he wins—"

"If he wins he need never fear the future again," Sir Arthur said slowly. "If he fails—"

"I cannot be a greater failure than I am at present," Clifford said bitterly. "I am desperate, friendless, and I have a wife depending upon me. I tell you I am mad for action; I could yell aloud, I could tear my hair to think of my helplessness. Danger! Have I not been through the war? Only trust me, and you shall not repent it."

Sir Arthur sat up like a man who is just awake. He looked resolute enough now. He rose and switched off the light, and locked the door as the others preceded him.

"That is enough," he said. "Your task and your peril begin now. But first you must have a change and some food. My carriage is at the door, waiting for me. Do you still hesitate? No? Then follow me. There is no time to lose."